


Old Eyes

by alphayamergo



Series: Old Eyes [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphayamergo/pseuds/alphayamergo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in America over the summer, Susan runs into a man with old, old eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Eyes

It’s while they’re at the grocery store that Susan first spots them.

Mother had been hurrying along, collecting all the food she’d thought they’d need for their stay in New York. Susan had come behind, quietly grabbing everything her mother had forgotten in her hurry and reminding her mother that no mother how hard they tried, they wouldn’t be able to buy everything they’d need for their eight weeks in one trip.

They were about to go to the check out when Susan accidentally runs into a man. Her cheeks burn and she’s furious at herself for it. Queens were supposed to be graceful. They weren’t supposed to run into random strangers in the middle of an American grocery store!

But the man apologizes immediately instead, even though she was the one who ran into him. She’s about to tell him as much when she meets his eyes and realizes – yes, he’s older than he looks. There’s something about his blue eyes that just _screams_ it to the high heavens. She knows because that same something in her own.

She’s not sure if he notices, so she doesn’t say anything just yet. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry,” and tries not to stare. A woman with flaming red hair and a kind face joins him, and her broad smile reminds Susan so much of Lucy that a wave of homesickness runs over her.

She keeps an eye on them for the rest of the time they’re in the grocery store, but doesn’t notice they’re watching her too.

-

“So that girl yesterday,” says Amy, leaning back on to park bench and looking out over Central Park. “She’s like you, and the Doctor and River.”

Rory frowns, sliding a little closer so they can murmur. “What do you mean?” He’d noticed something a little _different_ about the raven-haired teenager, but he hadn’t been able to quite place his finger on it yesterday.

“She looked… She had old eyes.” Amy rests her head on Rory’s shoulder and frowns a little. “Remember how the Doctor used to say that? He has the oldest eyes out of anyone.”

“I wonder if we’ll see her again,” says Rory. “It might be interesting.”

“She sounded British, if that helps,” offers Amy. “She might be a tourist or something.”

“In the middle of World War Two?” scoffs Rory.

“Shut up!” exclaims Amy, smacking his arm. “Maybe her dad’s a soldier or something. But she _was_ British.”

Rory nudges Amy off his shoulder so that he can stand. “We’ll puzzle over this mystery later,” said Rory, offering her a hand. She takes it and he pulls her into a standing position. “I’ve got that work thing, remember? That British guy’s going to be there. Doctor… Doctor Pevensie, I think.” Amy nods, and then her eyes go very wide.

“British…?” The one word makes Rory understand Amy’s idea, she can tell just from the ways his eyes go large.

“I doubt it,” he tells her.

“Bit of a coincidence, though,” says Amy. “British old-girl and British doctor…” She trails off, giving Rory a long look from the corner of her eye.

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since they’ve believed in coincidences.

-

And, incidentally, it’s been a long time for Susan, too.

Susan had been begging to go to her parent’s party tonight. She’d hated to have to _beg_ , but the idea of being stuck sitting at home alone for yet another night while her parents went to formal, grown up parties had been too awful to consider.

Susan had only ever attended a few of her parent’s parties, but she’d liked them a little. Most people passed her off for a young looking woman of standing (thanks to her regal manner and aristocratic looks), and she had rather appreciated being treated like a grown woman again.

Her parents had been uneasy at the idea of letting her ago, and had held off telling her until they were at the zoo only this morning. Susan had been enthralled with the lion enclosure, staring at one particular lion who reminded her of Aslan when it turned its head just so, when her mother had come up to tell her.

At the same heartbeat as Susan turned back to the enclosure, the lion nodded as approvingly as an American beast could, and then swung its head to look at her – right at her, right into her eyes - with large brown eyes.

No, Susan didn’t believe in coincidences.

-

When Susan arrived at the party, she shouldn’t have been so surprised at how dreadfully boring it was.

Even Susan, the one most partial to events that the events called ‘dull’ and ‘boring’ out of her siblings, can’t help but find it dreadfully difficult to not fall asleep. But honestly, it was a work party in the midst of rationing – what else could she have expected?

“Hello.”

It’s a Scottish voice that Susan places after only a half-second of thought, and she turns rapidly to face the speaker. The woman from the grocery story is peering at her with amusement on her face from a half metre away. She looks very different in a party situation, Susan notes, taking in the way she lets her fire-like hair fall freely across her back rather than pinned up like most women, and the differences in makeup. But then, Susan supposes, everyone looks a bit different at a party.

“Hello,” says Susan, a little warily. She wonders if this is why Aslan wanted her to come. She wonders who the red haired woman and her older-than-he-looks husband really are.

She’s bursting with questions. She wants to know if they’ve been to Narnia. Or have they been to a different world entirely? The Professor had said there were hundreds of different worlds, too many to count. Or had the woman not gone? Had it just been her husband?

“We keep running into each other,” says the woman. “Ah, well. Us Brits need to stick together.”

“But you’re Scottish,” says Susan with a frown, trying to ignore the slight embarrassment that comes with the reminder of her ungraceful run in yesterday.

The woman shrugs. “It’s close enough when we’re all in America,” she answers, and then sticks out her hand. “Amelia Williams, but most people just call me Amy.”

Susan shakes it. “Susan Pevensie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Susan,” says Amy. She glances around quickly and then gestures to the other side of the room. “That’s Rory, my husband over there.” Susan follows her gaze.

“He’s talking to my father,” she says, looking back to Amy, and in a single heartbeat she can see Amy’s unmasked curiosity when regarding her before it clears.

“They seem to be hitting it off,” says Amy, her lips smirking upwards at the sight of the two men conversing avidly.

“Your husband must be a nice person to get my father that animated,” says Susan. She watches her father and Rory for a few moments before returning her eyes to Amy.

“Oh, Rory’s the best man you’d ever meet,” said Amy, still watching her husband. Her eyes clouded as she murmured, “I’ve only met two other people who could ever possibly match up to him.”

“Who?” asked Susan before she could stop herself. She sounded like Lucy – overwhelmingly inquisitive with little idea on when to stop asking.

“A couple of old friends,” said Amy, turning back to Susan. “Melody and – and John, their names were.” Susan notices the way she stumbles over John’s name, but can already tell from Amy’s expression that it’s probably best not to ask. They sit there in silence for a few moments, both lost in their own thoughts.

Susan thinks over everything she’s learnt about Amy and Rory over the past few minutes and tries to reconcile it with the possibility of them travelling to Narnia. Could Melody and John have been people they’d met there? Amy’s sadness seemed to imply that she would never see them again. But they were in the middle of a war – they might have simply died.

“So what are you doing here in America?” asks Amy, dragging Susan out of her wondering. Susan shook her head slightly, to rid herself of the thoughts buzzing through her head, before replying.

“My father’s lecturing here,” replies Susan. “We’re only here for eight weeks. My brothers and sister are still at home.”

“Why’d you get to come but not them?” Susan notices the curiosity on Amy’s face, but also sees that there’s no real ulterior motive in it, unlike before. She’s good at reading people, and she’s certain she’s right about this, so she sees no harm in telling Amy about her family.

“Peter’s studying for university, and Edmund and Lucy are too young,” explains Susan. She tries not to smile at the idea of Edmund and Lucy being _too young_ or innocent for something. “So Peter’s staying with Professor Kirke – he’s who we stayed with during the Blitz, he’s a good friend of family now – and Edmund and Lucy are staying at my Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold’s.” Despite the large amount of self-control that Susan prides herself on, she can’t help but cringe on behalf of Edmund and Lucy.

Amy picks up and this and offers her a sympathetic smile. “Awful aunt and uncle?”

“The worst,” confirms Susan before she can bite her tongue.

“I had an awful aunt growing up,” says Amy. “Aunt Sharon. She thought I was mad.”

Susan sts up a little straighter when she heard this. “Why?” she asks, and Amy’ just opened her mouth to reply when they notice a voice.

“Amy!” exclaims Rory, stepping close to kiss Amy on the cheek. “Meet Doctor Frank Pevensie.” Rory and Father were standing side by side next to them, looking as thick as thieves.

“Hello, Susan,” says Father affectionately, giving her arm a squeeze. “Making friends?”

“Hope you don’t mind, Amy,” says Rory, “but I invited Frank and his family over for lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh, no,” says Amy, “that’s fine.”

-

“Everything ready?” calls Rory. He’s just finished setting the table and walks into the kitchen to check on Amy.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Did you realize that Frank was Susan’s father when you invited him?” she asks.

“No,” he promises, shaking his head. “You two seemed to be having a good chat last night.”

“She seems nice. Normal,” says Amy with a quick nod. “Doesn’t seem like a mass-murdering Time Lord or anything.”

“That’s always a plus,” says Rory with a grin. He pauses. “Why’d you pick Time Lord?”

Amy shrugs. “Most people we know with old eyes are at least part Time Lord.” Rory considers this before nodding.

There’s a knock on the door. Amy trades glances with Rory and says, “Show time.” Rory grins back at her and goes to answer the door.

“Hello,” says Frank jovially, and Amy can’t help but smile as she looks at him over Rory’s shoulder. He seems like a decent man; kind, friendly, and reminds her a bit of Brian. He reminds her of Rory, too, a little – both good-hearted men who had old, old daughters.

“Come in,” Rory ushers, allowing them all to sweep into their (slightly small) lounge room. Frank and Helen are both surveying their surroundings, but Amy notices that Susan seems to be inspecting Rory instead. Or perhaps the more accurate term would be sizing him up – just like Amy’s doing to her.

Perhaps they had more in common with this family than she’d thought.

-

“Susan mentioned you had other children,” Amy says when they’re all sat down at dinner. Susan sees her mother nod eagerly while her father reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and flicks it open to reveal some photos.

“That’s my Lucy,” says Father, pointing her out in the photos. “She’s our youngest, and that’s Edmund there. He’s between Susan and Lucy. They’re staying at my sister, Alberta’s, place.” Amy shoots her this _look_ , mischief dancing in her eyes, like ‘she even _sounds_ awful’. Susan chokes on her a laugh and covers it with a cough instead. Amy’s lips pull upwards into a grin at this. “And there’s Peter – he’s studying for university with an old family friend, Professor Kirke.”

“The oldest, then,” says Rory.

Mother nods. “That’s right. He wants to be a politician.”

“He’ll be brilliant at it,” says Susan, her voice barely audible. In her mind’s eye, she sees Peter presiding over Council meetings and creating treaties with Calormene, and that familiar determined look as he rallied his people. King Peter the Magnificent – he had earned that title. Rory looks at her curiously, but she doesn’t elaborate. She can’t; her throat is too choked up for her to even think about talking.

Oh, _Narnia_ – she misses it so much. She longs to ask Rory here and now if he had been to Narnia, and how it was faring if he had, and if Caspian and Trumpkin and all the rest had lived out good lives, and there are just so many questions bursting at her lips.

Instead, she asks if she can be excused, and retreats to the bathroom to cry.

-

“Susan?” Amy calls her name hesitantly. She’s been in the bathroom for entirely to long for her to have simply needed to go to the toilet. Helen had almost come looking for her, but Amy had offered to go instead. She has a feeling that Susan’s problem isn’t quite one that Helen would understand.

There’s a muffled noise in the bathroom, like someone’s crying but trying to do it silently, so they can’t be found. Amy straightens her shoulders and pushes the door open. Susan’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, hiding her face.

“Oh, _Susan_ ,” says Amy before she can stop herself. The maternal instinct she gained at Demons Run kicks in and she crouches by Susan’s side, placing a hand on the young girl’s shoulders.

Susan looks up at her and blurts out, “Have you been to Narnia?” Amy can tell before Susan finishes speaking that Susan hadn’t meant to say it – it’s obvious from the way Susan cringes as she says it.

Amy smiles gently. “I’ve never heard of Narnia,” she replies, “but that has to do with Rory’s eyes being older than the rest of him, doesn’t it?”

Susan nods slowly. “You’ve noticed,” she says quietly.

“Oh, yes,” says Amy. “I’ve had a lot of experience with people who are older than they look. But the story’s too long to tell now. How about we meet in Central Park tomorrow and you can tell us about Narnia and we’ll tell you about - ” She pauses, smirks, then continues, “and we’ll tell you about a boy and his box.”

“That reminds me of the horse and his boy,” muses Susan. “I’ll be there.” She brushes away the last few stray tears and stands. “Shall we go back out?”

-

“She’s a good actor, I think,” says Amy as she and Rory draw near the park. “She was crying when I went in, but when we came out you could never tell, not once.”

“I suppose when you’re a woman in a girl’s body,” says Rory, “you have to be.” Amy glances at him and nods.

“Like the Doctor,” she says quietly. “Whenever you saw him alone, when he thought there was no one around – he looked so sad. I suppose she’s a bit like him.”

“Like River, too.” They’re in the park by now, looking around for Susan but not quite seeing her. “Mels could get a bit like that sometimes. Sometimes, when we weren’t watching, she looked at us and you could just sort of tell that her heart was breaking.”

“Oh, _Melody_ ,” breathes Amy. “My poor baby.” She breaks off, looks at a spot in the distance for a heartbeat, and then shouts, “Hey, Susan!”

Susan hurries over to them. Even when she’s hurrying, there was a regal aura hanging about her, like she’s the queen of her surroundings. It was something Amy hadn’t noticed before, but she imagined that was probably because Susan had been acting then.

“Amy, Rory,” she greets quickly. “I found this spot, over there – it looks a little like Narnia. I thought you might want to see it.” Amy nods quickly, a smile spreading over her face. It’s odd to see Susan like this; she looks happier than Amy’s ever seen her, and younger and older at the same time. It’s like Susan is actually acting like her mental age, but at the same time, she’s _happier_ and more carefree. Amy knows that well – she always looked younger when she was in the TARDIS then when she was living out her ordinary life.

Susan leads them across the park, and Amy’s heart constricts painfully as she realizes just what they’re heading towards. A boulder resting on the grass – a boulder that you could sit on, could try to read on but have your best friend start reading his novel aloud (with commentary) instead…

Rory grabs Amy’s hand and squeezes firmly. Amy looks at him, her eyes growing misty, and nods at him. _‘I’m fine_ ,’ says the nod. ‘ _We need to find out about Narnia_ ,’ she doesn’t need to add. He nods back.

“This is it,” says Susan, climbing upwards on to the rock. Clutching Rory’s hand so tightly that her knuckles go white, Amy follows. Susan points outwards, back towards the trees. “The view reminds me a little of the windows from the banquet room back at Cair Paravel. It’s not the same, of course – back in Narnia, the trees would be moving, and some of the more friendly ones would be coming up to have conversation with you through the window…” She trails off, and stares sadly at the trees as if begging them to speak.

Susan shakes her head and looks back at Amy and Rory. She asks, “Would you like to start or shall I?”

Amy and Rory exchange a look. “We will,” says Amy.

-

By the time Amy finishes their story, the sun has sunk a lot lower in the sky, and people are beginning to retreat from the park back to their homes. Susan’s blue eyes have grown large with wonder as she regards them.

“That sounds _wonderful_ ,” she whispered. Her mind is buzzing with the tale she has just listened to, and Susan finds herself hoping that perhaps Aslan has something similar in store for her. Oh, she remembers there are dangerous, traumatic parts to Amy and Rory’s journeys, but Narnia had had its horrors, too. She still remembers the day Aslan died, or when the Witch stabbed Edmund, or when a werewolf formerly in the Witch’s employ almost took out Lucy.

“It was,” replies Amy fervently. “We miss them every day.”

“Now, didn’t you have a story for us?” asks Rory.

Susan pauses, wondering how to begin. “Once upon a time,” she finally settles on, “there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy…”

-

_Dearest Lucy,_

_You will never believe the week I’ve had, or the people I’ve met…_


End file.
